HonkyTonk Hell
by Taylor Hayes
Summary: Which ever girl had convinced Brittany to have her bachelorette party here was dead to him. Part 4 of the Barfly 'verse.


**Honky-Tonk Hell**

The night had started with protests and admonishments, but it wasn't until they actually stepped into the building that the horrified whimpers and the promises to find and eviscerate the business proprietor with a rusty screwdriver began.

"Why, why, _why_ did you bring me here?" Kurt demanded, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around himself, clearly scared of touching anything for fear it would ruin his couture outfit. Quinn caught his elbow and simply pointed over at a pair seated across the room.

Brittany was bouncing, excited, eyes darting around the room. Santana, on the other hand, looked just as disgusted to be there as Kurt, but then her gaze would be caught by the happy blonde, and she couldn't help smiling.

With a heavy sigh, the countertenor nodded, then mentally pictured himself in a hazmat suit and began repeating, over and over as they stepped farther into the establishment, "For Brittany. This is for Brittany. I can do this for Brittany."

Mercedes, on the other hand, couldn't hold back the alarmed question, "Who the_ hell _introduced Brit to this place? And whose bright idea was it to let her have her bachelorette party here?"

The girl in question didn't even blink, behaving just as sunny and eccentric as ever, while the other females all avoided one another's eyes as they took their seats.

Kurt, however, decided right then and there (as a waitress dressed in what appeared to be a hooker cowgirl outfit approached with a "Howdy, y'all!" and a metal bucket of unshelled peanuts, wearing the most distressing yellow and orange ruffled apron he had ever had the misfortune to witness) to find out who had originally brought his favorite girl to this horrible bar and grill and _destroy them_ with the kind of extreme prejudice worthy of one Sue Sylvester. They might think they were safe now, but sooner or later, he would make them pay.

Kurt was snapped out of his detailed plotting when Brittany finally noticed the presence of her dolphin and splayed across Santana's lap to reach the boy. "Kurt! I'm getting _married_ tomorrow, Kurt! To _Santana!_" The silly words were caused in equal part by Brittany being Brittany, and by the line of shots stretched out in front of the bride-to-be.

"I know, sweetie," he chuckled, returning her hug tightly. (The kiss on the cheek he could have done without, and Kurt was almost positive he now had a sticky, sparkling lip print on his face. Gaga, the things he put up with for his girls.)

Tina reached over the table, ignoring Rachel's monologue about how "enlightened" New York was, to tap Kurt's hand, her expression bright with some sort of secret. "I saw Brit's dress yesterday. It's gorgeous. While you design mine when it's my turn?"

Trying to keep his face straight, Kurt nodded.

Which was when Sugar noticed the ring. "Oh my god, Tina, you're _engaged?_"

All eyes turned to the Asian girl, who blushed, grinned and nodded, before holding up one hand to flash a brilliant diamond.

It was like dropping a pigeon in the midst of a bunch of cats, watching the females shove and shriek and giggle and grab, each one wanting to see the shiny rock up close.

Kurt, meanwhile, sat back, content to wait for his turn to come around. After all, he'd seen the gem before, while helping Mike pick out the ring and set up an admittedly adorable proposal. Now that he knew the whole thing had been pulled off without a hitch, he was finally able to breathe. Keeping it a secret had been a necessary trial that was fully worth it, when it meant he could see Tina practically glowing with smug happiness.

Then he shifted in his chair and his foot landed on something, which cracked. The sound reminded the male of the discarded peanut shells that littered the floor. And the cow and bull skulls hanging above the door. And the rusted barbed wire and horseshoes, and the use of driftwood and old barrels and hemp blankets and oiled saddles and bridles. And the "mural" along one wall of a cowboy atop a horse, watching a herd of cattle, all set against a technicolor sunset.

Oh yes, that was right. He was in Hell. Tacky, western-themed, Honky-Tonk Hell.

So while the girls continued cooing and clapping over Tina, he let himself sink back into plans for whichever of his girls caused them to all end up here. Because whoever had thought this would be funny? They were as good as dead.


End file.
